


The First Supper

by missbibliophile



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, soft romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27203065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbibliophile/pseuds/missbibliophile
Summary: The original female character experiences her first supper with Chapur after he takes her from the dungeon.
Relationships: Chapur (Dress Up! Time Princess)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	The First Supper

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-shot attempt. Thank you for any feedback or constructive criticism you might have.  
> When I typed this up, I wanted to originally make another fanfiction based on the characters and worlds put together by IGG for Dress Up! Time Princess. Due to some time constraints and other projects needing attention, I was only able to produce a one-shot. I like how it turned out (for once) and feel I could probably add more to it.
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers and for the editing help from RoselessThorn, 0hHarvey, and NerdQueenie.

When I found myself in this story, I didn’t know what I was expecting. Everything seemed fine at first. If fine is defined as being hunted down, called a slave, almost dying in a desert cave, and then being taken hostage by the magician who put me in said cave. It has taken me some time to get used to the clothes of this world. I try my best to wear a thick shawl as often as possible for protection from the blazing sun. It's so hot too often; I ended up wearing whatever loose-fitting clothing Kahir had bought me. I start to toy with the front of my newest kaftan.

“Stop picking at the embroidery.” I am brought out of my thoughts by the sound of books being dropped on a table. “Unlike the prince, I do not have the means to replace clothes on a whim.”

I hold my breath as I take a moment to think of how to respond. Chapur, the astrologer appointed by the Prime Minister and magician who had previously left me to die, stands tall before me. He glares down at me with a look of such disdain. “You know what you can do if you’re bored?”

“I-I’m not bored.” I do my best to stare him down.

It was obvious from the start that he would not be shaken. His glare is unwavering. Despite the anger bubbling in the pit of my stomach, my determination began to falter. I have to blink at some point. He turns and walks up the stone staircase before he can see me give up.

“Start cleaning the bookcases.”

What does he think I am? I escaped from a life of servitude with the help of Kahir. To start doing as Chapur demands is a move backward. Part of me feels it would be disrespectful to all of Kahir’s help. Feeling the guilt wash over me, I can’t stop my muscles from relaxing. Chapur’s moving around upstairs. I can only imagine what it is he’s doing. Perhaps whatever it is astrologers do. While he is occupied, I do some exploring.

The ground floor of the building has two rooms that I am familiar with: the first room upon entry is the main room, with a second room to the south. A simple arch opens to the second room. I can see clearly that it’s another study. Chapur’s pacing seems to have stopped. After quietly waiting a little while longer, I go into the second room. Bookshelves line these walls, too. Two large and sturdy tables had been pushed together to make one long surface. Various instruments that look like ancient beakers and vials sit on the table. There are a few that hold liquids. I can smell something subtle from the glass nearest the entryway. Sweet? Flowery? Something earthy stands out, too. Whatever it is - no matter how alluring - it can only be questioned. There is nothing I can think of in this place to be benign. I move toward the window of the eastern wall. It is big enough for me to fit through. The only problem is… the stone stairs built into the wall outside look to be about four feet below the edge of the window. If I try to leave out this way, I could hurt myself if I am not careful. But there is only one way to find out.

A thick black tendril of smoke crosses in front of my path just as I get one knee onto the sill. I freeze up. A second one appears. Then a third. I begin to panic as my entire view is obscured by the smoke. In my panic, I back up to the table. I hear the rattle of objects and hold my breath just waiting for something to break.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” I jump and turn my back to the window. Chapur is standing in the room. I see him holding onto the potion I smelled earlier. There is a certain look on his face. Concern? Anger? “Until you give up the lamp, you’re not leaving. Try to go too far from my presence and you’ll be incapacitated.” He takes care to securely set the potion back onto the table. “If you’re not going to clean the bookcases - go upstairs.”

Robotically, I hurry past him towards the room upstairs.

Before I look for a place to sit, something hits me. It’s something else that smells alluring. This is something I can actually taste. It’s savory and warm. The distinct smell of cumin comes to me first. Then I smell the garlic and cardamom.

“What smells so good?” I follow the scents towards the open kitchen in the corner. Rumbling growls give away how hungry I am. With hesitation, I reach for the lid of the pot set on top of the clay oven. It takes all of my energy to not open it. If there was any food in this pot, it was probably inedible. The strength of aroma tells me there were a lot of spices used. I remember my mom warning me about using too many spices spoiling food.

“Are you looking for trouble?”

“What? No!” I am quickly told to take a seat at the round table. The pillows are soft. It is easy to get into a comfortable sitting position. My feet are curled up beneath the table. I hide my hands under there, too, to hide how much they’re shaking.

“Listen carefully, because I won’t repeat myself.” I look up to show Chapur that he has my attention. “You won’t leave the astrology chambers.”

He unwraps his turban and then the scarf beneath that was made big enough to rest over his shoulders. I can’t help but stare at the long hair he reveals. It is tied up to keep it neatly together, but I can guess how long it is as the length continues beneath his heavy-looking robe.

“You will only be able to leave when I allow it,” he continues. I try not to stare any longer. There is a spot on the table I force myself to fixate on. The room has gone quiet except for the sounds of dishes being moved around. It is not long before a plate is set in front of me, one at a spot on the other side of the table, and then a steaming container of rice and the larger simmering pot set in the middle. Chapur removes the lids.

The saffron from the rice lingers in the air as the steam slowly circulates. The spices from the larger pot come soon after. I barely notice that Chapur has taken the place opposite me. My eyes are still focused on one spot. Part of me wants to look up and see what his expression is, but another part of me wants to ruin the meal.

“I’m sure you haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.” I use all of my energy to try to shut down my senses. “The guards had you brought here after you were locked up.” My body betrays me as a growl of hunger breaks my silence. “I doubt they gave you much more than bread and gruel.”

I clench my hands into fists under the table.

“I’m not hungry.” My stomach grumbles again. I relent to my curiosity and turn my gaze up to him.

Chapur doesn’t argue with me. He’s already placed a heap of rice on his plate. What he had made in the large pot looks like a golden brown curry. I meet his eyes by accident as he rests the ladle back into the pot. Though I look away as fast as I can, the image of him dressed down to the light robe and tunic is etched in my thoughts. He eats in silence as I stubbornly resist my hunger. Does he always make this much food? It seems enough to feed at least five people. Last I remember, there is no such thing as a refrigerator here. Was he planning on eating it all himself? Was he going to try and use the food to drug me? I glimpse at him as he eats the food he took directly from the pot. If he wanted to drug me, he wouldn’t be eating the same food he'd planned to serve me. I just can’t help but feel there is something he set up. All he wants from me is the magic lamp. No matter what, I will continue to refuse to hand it over. My stomach grumbles once more. Chapur sighs and shows frustration by massaging his forehead.

“If you don’t eat on your own, I will feed you by force.”

As soon as I imagine the worst, I give up. My plate is swiftly covered in curry and saffron rice. I can’t stop my hand from shaking as I bring a spoonful of food to my mouth. The first bite is so fluffy and warm. The spices bite at my tongue and my throat, but it is quickly mellowed out by the rice. Everything sends a wave of warmth through my body. My thoughts can barely keep up as I start shoveling one spoonful after another into my mouth. I’ve never been a fan of curry back home. Most of what I had experienced was the take-out down the street my father would pick up on his way home. The only thing I remember of that curry was a strong aftertaste. But this curry… I didn’t want to stop eating it. I was about to put some more food on my plate when I noticed Chapur looking at me inquisitively. His lips curl into a smirk that causes my cheeks to redden and heart to pound.

He brings his hands together, elbows propped on the table, and rests his chin on top of the entwined fingers. “Don’t stop on my account. The food’s bringing the color back to your complexion.”

I don’t know what to say. The ladle drops from my hand into the curry. My voice is constrained and quiet as I attempt to retort. After pushing my plate away, I resign to sitting quietly. Chapur finishes his meal before cleaning up the dishes. The pot with leftover curry is set aside on top of the clay stove. He says one word and I’m up on my feet and stepping away from the table.

Chapur doesn’t say anything as I go to the window and sit down. The sky darkens with the setting of the sun. I can see the stars clearly. They already dot the navy-blue ocean crowning the pale horizon. It’s difficult to look away. Back home, there is so much light pollution - from street lamps, skyscrapers, neon signs - that I always forget that it has not always been so difficult to see stars naturally. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Chapur clearing his throat.

I turn from the window and stand to find the place we had been sitting is now turned into some kind of sleeping area. Plush pillows and decorated blankets, all bright colors, lie where the table had been. I see the table was turned on its side and resting against the staircase. Looking at how the room was transformed, I notice there is a ladder leading up to a wooden door in the ceiling. He doesn’t have to say anything and I already feel tired.

Chapur leaves me alone. I watch as he takes whatever curry and rice is left on two stacked plates up with him to the room above. Once he is gone, though he leaves the wooden door open, I turn the bed of pillows and blankets into my own little nest.


End file.
